tofi's trail

June can't help but wince, every time he hears the twang of the bowstring as it's loosened. He watches the archers at any competition and practice that he can, because of that twang. And the dull thnk sound when an arrow strikes the targets the archers aim at.

Initially, he had thought that his reaction, his draw to the sound, was a desire to master the weapon himself, but he learned, once he did, that it wasn't what he was after.

June envied the string, the arrow, and most of all those targets, painted with thick red circles. The root of his tail twitched each time he heard the thud of an arrow connecting, and his nostrils flared. His flush was partially concealed by the archers knowing that he was prone to it, not knowing exactly why, but assuming it was simply in his nature. June's clothes disguised the throb of arousal, the wetness seeping into his smallclothes and straining against the straps forcing it to stay hidden.

One particularly strong thud drew his attention, and June saw a muscly elven woman with long flaxen hair squint in the direction of her target. Her arrow was buried nearly to the feathers in the target. He drew a deep, shaking breath, trying to stop the jealousy from showing on his face. Sometimes, it was difficult, but he had become pretty good at it, over the years.

He thought, at least, but maybe the woman could see it, despite that. Maybe his breath was too loud. He sees her gaze on him for just a brief moment, and he's drawn toward it without realizing, moving forward without thinking. There are shouts, and light flashing in front of his eyes.

The pain is a bloom of heat, and he starts to buckle. The sound of shouting voices is distant, as though heard through a thick fog, as another pang of pain ignites within him. When he looks down, June can see the feathered ends of two arrows, brown and creamy white spotted with blood, sticking out of his side. Heat blooms between his legs, and he whimpers as the throb of his arousal. His knees shake, and before they buckle beneath him, before his hands can reach to touch the arrows, he's caught by strong, sun-freckled arms, and the elven woman holds him in her grasp. He faintly hears her apologizing, hears someone shout-ask why he stepped onto the archery field like that, and hears her say she will take him to be treated.

Like that, he's whisked away, and it's a blur. He feels her set him down. He's too needy, too wrapped up in the sensation of the arrows inside him, but it doesn't matter. She knows, she so clearly knows, when he sees her hand grasp one of the feathery ends, and shift it, just a tiny, tiny bit.He gasps, and a hand grasps his chin, forcing him to look up. He whimpers, displeased because he wants to see the way his body wraps around the arrows. Her eyes, though. The worry is gone in them, and he understands that the arrows hadn't settled in his body entirely as accidentally as it seemed.

"You like this, do you?" He hears, and he gasps again. Jolts of pain burst through him, and he can tell by the shifting of her shoulder that she's slowly twisting the arrow. He nods, just barely able to move his head in her tight grip. She smirks. Her hand leaves the arrow and he whines at the loss. His cock springs free as she finds the straps holding it down. "Go to the range to dream of being full of arrow holes, are you?" He nods again. She pumps his cock, once, twice, and he sobs quietly. She shushes him, and kisses him. "Little pincushion whore," she murmurs gently, before she yanks hard on an arrow.

Darkness bursts in June's vision, and he presses his lips tightly together. He sees the sparkling drops of cum fly through the air.

The hulls of the arrow-head dig into his back; the arrow has gone through him, and he feels the points dig a circle in his skin. She moves her hand from his chin to his mouth, and smothers the sound of the orgasmic pain she causes him. He feels the sting of tears and the trail of blood and she pushes him down on his back. The hulls of the arrow dig deeper, pressing into the woung she's carving.

"Good little pain slut," she murmurs into his ear as she leans over him. She has barely seated herself on his cock when he orgasm again. She chuckles. She sinks fast and hard down onto his throbbing cock, simultaneously yanking hard on both arrows at once. The grip she has on them, one-handed, cause such pain that the darkness rapidly turns into bright light, then into darkness again, then a cascade of colours, tinted with the red and white of the most burning pleasure he's ever felt. He spasms beneath her as she fucks herself on his cock, and fucks his wounds forse and worse with the arrows. He feels amazing, he feels alive and he feels like a bowstring pulled too far, ready to snap at any moment.

When it does, he cries out beheath her hand, the sound muffled. The darkness floods his vision again, and he sobs of the orgasm. It feels like it won't end. He hears her quietly laugh, just as he passes out, her still moving up and down on his cock, twisting the arrows ruthlessly. He feels like he can feel his body shudder in orgasm after orgasm, even after he has passed out, but maybe that's simply a hallucination.

Carvings on a Horn 8